


Exceeding the Limits

by thatgirl255



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce pushes himself a lot, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and it's not okay, he just doesn't think about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirl255/pseuds/thatgirl255
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As indestructible as Bruce Banner is, even he can burn himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceeding the Limits

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of different theories about how Bruce's body handles the change into the Hulk. This is kind of me testing one of them out.

Of course it all started on a sunny normal morning, when everyone had made concrete plans and decided to let their guard down just enough to enjoy themselves. Of course it was aliens who first attacked New York. Of course they came in doves, and of course they seemed to have psychic powers.

“We're almost done!” Bruce Banner was saying for what felt the hundredth time, rocking with the now common place explosions that were rumbling through his and Reed Richards makeshift lab. In only an hour seemingly everywhere in the city had been compromised. Everyone else was out there fighting, but thanks to the high probability of the Hulk getting brainwashed and used against them, his alter ego was a little more desirable. Reed, well, he just knew a lot about aliens. Not to mention that he found this all very _fascinating_. 

In the end though, it didn't matter what his intention was. What mattered was that they were a hairs breadth away from finishing the device that would stop any more psychic interference, and finally ending the impromptu war. “We're going to need it up and running ASAP.” Captain America said through the com unit attached firmly inside both Bruce's and Reed's ear. “And the Hulk even sooner.”

“I can finish the rest on my own.” Reed was saying, his arm stretched out to the other side of the room. Bruce didn't think he would ever not find that creepy. “Go, you've been a great help Dr. Banner.”

Bruce nodded, taking off his glasses and starting on his shirt. The Other Guy wouldn't be needing it. “The next time we work together I hope it'll be in a...” He floundered for a moment on a proper word as he stepped out of his shoes. “Less _stressful_ situation.” The small smirk on Reed's face was the last thing he saw before he was running into the war torn streets.

*

It was easy to tell how long and how quickly he was conscious after he finished Hulking out by how much of a headache he got and how tired he was. His light headache meant that he couldn't have been out of it for any more than a couple of hours. He was tired, but not enough to feel like he immediately had to go and rest. Really, it was all that Bruce could ask for to not wake up feeling like complete shit.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, looking up to scan his surroundings. The rest of the Avengers were there, all in uniform, though Iron Man had his helmet off and Captain America his cowl down. They were in the jet, and his eyes sought out Hawkeye immediately. It took him a moment to remember that he was off on a mission somewhere in Europe. 

“Perfect timing, doctor.” Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Black Widow decked out in her usual uniform. The last time he saw her a moment ago, he she was standing across the room. He had no idea how she managed to make it behind him without him noticing, but he had long since stopped asking himself these kinds of questions. “We drove the enemy back at Manhattan, but they have a base right outside Singapore. We're going in to get rid of them now.” She nodded to the others, who all started to gear up and soon after leap out of the hatch as soon as it opened. “We can use some anger.”

Bruce nodded, wiping a hand down his face as he stood up. He didn't need any other context, just stepped off out of the hatch like the rest of them, and let himself fall.

*

Every sound pounded through his head, shook his surroundings and blurred memory and fact. Time stretched into drawn moments since Bruce had woken up again, tired but too hurting to find peace in slumber. He tried to focus on the facts, and only the facts. He had woken up on the jet again, they were successful, but needed in another part of the world. Somewhere in Asia maybe or South Africa. He couldn't remember. All he knew was that they were all talking about the new mission, but somehow, nothing sounded right. 

“The lady Darcy is asking what the aliens looked like.” Thor was asking from his immediate left. He had come to terms long ago that Thor was the warm body that he was laying against. Bruce wasn't going to say anything about it if he wasn't.

“Same old.” Tony said from...somewhere. He kept moving, making it hard to pin point where he was. “Still waiting for the hot green skinned babes, just saying.” 

“Life isn't Star Trek, Stark.” Said Natasha from the cockpit. She was the one flying the plane, which was one of the only things that gave Bruce any sort of solace. “We're—” Whatever she was about to say was lost on Bruce, the confusion setting a little too heavily on his mind for him to understand the words. 

Bruce blinked, once, twice, three times, and when he realized he wasn't about to figure it out on his own, just asked. “Why is everyone speaking Spanish?”

There was a chorus of cheers throughout the jet that made Bruce flinch. He sat up, wide eyed and alert, as he glanced around at everyone gathered. 

“Two hours!” Steve was yelling, laughing at the sour look on Tony's face. “Pay up, Stark.” 

Tony grumbled, and the last thing Bruce recalled was the explosion that rocked the jet.

*

Bright lights, a slurring colour that faded and danced into threes and forths. This was similar to the tornado bringing the world from black and white to technicolour that still awed him to this day. His head was numb with pain, the taste of bile of acid in the back of his throat reminding him what it was like to get sick. Was he human anymore? Would he really think past the pain and madness that seemed to overcome each and every uncommon to common thing that

He never did say goodbye, or remembered to say hello. He wanted him beside him, the one person who he never thought he would never be able to have, or had, or will have. He couldn't understand the warmth on his skin and the cold disconnecting himself from the reality of himself.

“We need you.”

Wind whispered haphazardly against his head. He felt it, familiar. Pain, confusion, anger raising, falling, staying, stagnating, in, around, inside, outside. This wouldn't be, but it had to be, must be all the reasons as to what and where and

He couldn't think, he wasn't allowed. He needed to go, he needed

“One last time.”

Darkness.

*

The last twenty four hours was, without a doubt, a terrible experience. No one was hurt so bad that they had to go and stay in medical, but that didn't mean they were unharmed. Tony was standing, barely, in the remains of his suit that had warped and melted together so tightly that the only way to take it off was through the tools in his workshop. Natasha had both a broken arm and leg, along with a severely twisted ankle and a multitude of bruises. Though from the way she was sitting, it was near impossible to tell. Even Thor was nursing a black eye, and from the way he was standing, Steve was guessing at least a few bruised ribs. What he seemed the most bothered by, however, was how he left the battle with a lopsided hairdo.

The Hulk, well...the Hulk was just sitting on the floor cross legged, quiet and calm. If it had been like any other battle, he would have changed back into their unassuming scientist at least an hour ago. Then again, it wasn't every day that they have had to ask him to appear four times in one day. Maybe he needed some time to really calm down, or to convince Bruce to come back out. Steve was...very fuzzy on the details.

It was silent across the jet, everyone just patiently waiting to get home to lick their wounds and recuperate. It would be another hour before they reached the tower, much to everyone's disappointment, but it would be far too much effort on anyone's part to argue. 

It was a long world wary sigh that added to the gentle hum of machinery, just enough noise that it roused Steve's attention. He glanced over at the Hulk just in time to see his eyes slip close, and his body start to shrink. His ankle wasn't fairing too well, and neither was his knee, but either way he rushed to his teammate, catching him just before he fell flat on his face.

“Bruce?” He turned him over in his arms so he could see his face. It looked as if the man hadn't slept or eaten for _weeks_. Next to his, Steve's light skin looked like a tropical suntan, the dark bruises under his eyes and the unhealthy yellow brushing against his cheeks seemingly the only colour that dare make itself known.

The doctor started to stir at the same time Tony came to stand by his shoulder. “Shit.” He breathed in a terrified awe. If Steve didn't agree with his statement he would have found some dark humour in what made Tony Stark near speechless.

“Cap?” Came the dry, near whisper from Bruce's cracked lips, the word followed by a few dry coughs. Somehow he battled his eyes open and look over at Steve, or at least he thought so. He was looking towards him, but with how gazed over with exhaustion his eyes were, he could have been looking at anything. “Do you need the oth—”

“ _No._ ” Both Tony and Steve called out together. There was a scramble, a muffled curse word at his back, and then Tony was sitting beside where they were knelled, looking as deeply troubled and guilty as Steve felt. “We won, big guy.” Tony said as he ran his gauntletless hand through Bruce's wild, unruly locks. Instantly Bruce flopped, boneless in Steve's hold, his eyes sliding closed as if it had been painful to keep them open. “Relax. We're going home.”

“'Kay.” Was the last word they got out of Bruce before he was completely passed out, his chest raising and falling with even, shattering breaths. 

“Widow.” The Captain America persona was back on, because Steve was reeling. He wished he could say the missions would have gone differently if he knew that this would be the outcome, but he would be lying. “We need to get to the closest SHIELD base with medical, ASAP.”

*

Two days were expected. Three was staring to get worrisome. 

Even more worrisome was the fact that Natasha could hear Clint coming when he rocketed down the hall. Sure, she could almost always hear him, but this time she could hear him coming from a mile away. She turned around just as he was within a few feet of her. His breath was heavy, face flushed and expression a forced calm stretched over panic. “Where?”

Natasha flashed her clearance and got them inside the quarantined medical room. 

There were two bodies in the area they entered, the one in the bed belonging to one Bruce Banner. He was still a little too skinny for anyone to be comfortable around, but thanks to the much needed sleep he had gotten, and the nutrients flooding into his system though the IV attached to him, he looked, well. He looked alive.

“Eye of hawk.” Thor greeted from where he was seated in his chair. It had taken the two days before he and Natasha had convinced Steve and Tony to go back to the tower, where they were both hopefully passed out. Natasha closed the door silently as Clint went immediately to Bruce's bedside. As Thor continued to talk, she gave the archer a look over. It was obvious to see that he had come immediately after completing his mission. He would have about three minutes, five if Coulson was being generous, before he would be called in for a debrief. 

“He has stayed in his slumber for two nights, now.” Thor informed Clint as he stood, awkwardly, over Bruce. Thor wasn't going to mention it, but he did notice the way his fingers continued to twitch, as if aching for warm skin under them. “He has shown no signs of distress, nor any of waking. He fought cleverly, long and forcefully. Sleep has claimed him far too easily.” 

They stayed there, in that exaggerated tableau, for minutes. Thor seated, back straight and posed, hands on his knees as he looked at Clint with an understanding that would only come from personal experience. Clint stood, head slumped between his shoulders, eyes trapped somewhere between Bruce's collarbone and nose—anywhere but his face—tension lined in every inch of his body. Natasha at the door, guarding the only exit and entrance they had with a cool relaxed stance, even if her eyes were hard and trained on her partner. Bruce, of course, lay sleeping, not at all disturbed or aware of the scene just before him. 

As soon as the sound of a phone buzzing went off, Clint was out the door. Natasha let him.

*  
It was the forth day blurring into the fifth day when Steve came back, alone. Tony decided that the better way to distract himself from the situation was through trying to fix whatever he could from the mess that was his suit. Steve did not agree with it, but it was not his place to judge. 

When he was ushered inside he was a little surprised to see Clint sitting in the only available chair, Bruce's hand held tightly inbetween his own. Steve didn't catch any words, but he did notice that just before he walked in, Clint was muttering to himself, or Bruce. Whatever he was saying died the moment he looked up and made eye contact with Steve.

“Oh, hey Cap.” He said, each word dripping with a false cheerfulness that did nothing to mask how flat his tone was. Steve frowned, but chose not to say anything as he closed the short distance to Bruce's bed side. He looked him over, pleased to see that Bruce was looking a little better, though his concave stomach was still a concern. The sooner they could get some solid food in him the better.

“Clint.” Steve greeted as he took a look around the room. It was a lot messier than he remembered it being, a number of throw pillows stuffed into the corner, a Starkpad balancing precautionary on top of Bruce's heart monitor, a stack of thick books shattered seemingly everywhere, one perched, dog eared, in Clint's lap. 

Steve unconsciously smoothed the cease in Bruce's bedsheets as he looked towards Clint. “Have you been here every day?” He asked, though he realized the answer as he was voicing the question. Clint wasn't a man who always made it obvious where he was at every point in the day, but for the last couple of days Steve had noticed only seeing him in the mornings, for about three seconds at a time, before he was rushing out the door as if he was late. Judging from the mess of the room, it was here that Clint was heading to. 

Clint didn't answer, but he did avoid eye contact and wiggle uncomfortably in his seat. That was all Steve needed. It was a common fact around the tower and Bruce and Clint were involved in a something. Steve never really gave it much thought, but he would admit that he was under the impression it was purely physical stress relief between them. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, though Steve found himself glad that the two had each other to lean on when things got heavy. Everyone deserved a person they could trust even when they weren't able to care for themselves.

The silence between them was comfortable in a way that both parties understood and ignored that they other was there. Steve broke it by sighing several minutes later. “He's going to wake up.” He assured both Clint and himself. He got up to go get them both coffee and lunch when he noticed the wetness in the other's eyes.

*

It was right on the edge of the eighth day when Bruce opened his eyes. It was about four in the morning when he did so, the only other people in the room at the time being one Clint Barton and one Tony Stark.

There was a fluttering of brown eyes, a moment of confusion, and then Brazilian Portuguese. “This doesn't look good.”

The twenty minutes before Clint and Tony were dragged away by the medical professionals could only be described as a clutter fuck.

*

It took a lot of talking down, a lot of 'I'm fine's, an effort to sit up and eating a whole meal before Bruce could convince everyone to leave. Everyone, that was, except for Clint.

“How was your mission?” Bruce asked as if he hadn't been in a coma for just over a week, as if they were still pretending there was nothing going on between them, even though Bruce refused to let go of Clint's hand when everyone was gathered. Clint couldn't tell if he was thankful for it or not, so he answered.

“Shitty. I got some bad intel and it took an extra day.” He explained, and didn't even bother trying to move away when Bruce traced the healing cut on his cheek with his fingertips. “Then I heard you were in a coma, completely ruined the mood.”

“Not in a coma.” Bruce sighed for the dozenth time. “Just a nap that got away from me a little.”

Clint snorted, shaking his head as he looked down at Bruce's lap. It wasn't long before the smile was gone, and he could feel himself slipping back into the thought pattern he had before Bruce woke up. “Whatever it was...” He swallowed, and shook his head once more, feeling the hairs shift and flop on top of his head. “Don't do it again.”

His hair shifted and flopped again, this time because of a hand sliding through them. He leaned into the touch, letting out a breath at how right the large, familiarly callused fingers felt scratching against his skull. “I'll try not to.” Bruce mumbled. It wasn't a promise, but it was enough to make Clint look up at him. Bruce smiled apologetically, and Clint couldn't help but smile back. 

“Just promise me one thing.” Clint leaned forward a little, and he watched Bruce's eyelids slid closed a little as he did the same. “Hm?”

Clint leaned back and flicked Bruce's forehead making the other yelp. “Don't Hulk out more than three times in a row without me there!”

Bruce blinked, only thrown for a moment before he had a large, genuine smile spread on his face. “That,” He said, leaning forward to quickly press his lips against his cheek. “I can promise.”


End file.
